


Black Rye

by windychimes



Category: Bastion
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-14
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:27:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2615066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windychimes/pseuds/windychimes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zulf and the Kid speak of fatherhood and loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Rye

They sit in front of a fire by the Monument, nursing Black Ryes and talking. Talking about nothing; years on the Bastion now, they’ve run through all their old stories. The Kid still likes the story of when Zulf, young and still an orphan, got into a fight with another boy and broke his nose, so Zulf retells it from time to time. But it’s too old now, ancient history, and he has learned to enjoy the quiet of the Kid.

As they mumble back and forth to each other, the Kid suddenly grabs Zulf by the shoulder and points to Zia on the other side of the fire, having her own quiet conversation with Rucks. Rucks, who has a lifetime of stories to tell, and Zia, who will always listen, even when he repeats himself. “She’s… she’s beautiful, ain’t she? Most beautiful, most beautiful girl there is.”

“What do you mean?” Zulf asks, treading carefully. They’ve had enough drunken brawls together; calling another man’s wife beautiful is asking for another.

“Look at her. She’s so… so round. Gonna be a father soon. Can you believe that?” The Kid lets go of Zulf’s shoulder so he can press his face to it. “Always looks so happy now.”  


Zulf nods, running thumb around the rim of his Black Rye, eyes on her stomach. “She’s… she’s gorgeous,” he whispers.

The Kid laughs. “Don’t go looking at my wife like that. Punch your lights out if you keep it up.”

“I’m not looking at her like that,” Zulf assures him. “It’s just… she’s glowing now. She’s so full of life. It’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” the Kid hums, “Sure is. Can’t believe I got her.” He closes his eyes and sighs. “Never thought, never thought I’d get married, or have a kid. Wasn’t real popular with girls back home.”

On the Bastion, Zia’s options are limited, but Zulf doesn’t say that. The way they look at each other, it’s more than loneliness and desperation. It’s something special.

It’s the same way he looked at his love.

“Think I’ll be a good dad?” the Kid asks, taking a drink from his bottle. “Didn’t have one of my own, don’t know what to do. Don’t, don’t wanna be like my dad.” The Kid spits. “Never gonna be like him.”  


“You’ll be a fine father,” Zulf says, and takes a sip of his own drink. “I imagine you can figure it out.”

The Kid nods, face still pressed to Zulf’s shoulder. They fall into silence, and Zulf’s mind falls into action. How nice it would be to be a father, to have a child of his own. He’ll certainly help raise the Kid and Zia’s child, he suspects he’ll be needed often, but it’s not the same. If his love was still here, they could have had a child. Mixed race, like Zia and the Kid’s, something crossing boundaries so firmly put in place. Maybe they’d have a daughter, a daughter who would grow up just like her mother, beautiful and strong and sweet. Zulf takes a deep drink of his Black Rye. How nice it would be to be a father.

The Kid detaches his face from Zulf’s shoulder and pulls his shirt off, tossing it away and falling backwards to lie in the cool grass of the Bastion. “Hot,” is the Kid’s only explanation.

“Drink water,” Zulf tells him.

“Don’t wanna move,” the Kid replies, and throws his arm over his face. “Tired.”

Zulf says nothing to that. The Kid will pass out soon, and it will be up to Zia and him to drag him to his tent. Instead he looks over the Kid, looks over his tan muscles and the white scars marring his body. The Kid is strong, stronger than anyone Zulf has ever seen, but he is not immortal. He’s had close calls before; he’s come back from the Skyway, bleeding and broken, barely breathing. It’s taken too long to patch him up before, and Zulf has had to comfort Zia during those times, hold her as she wept into his chest, afraid of losing her love. No one deserves to lose a love, especially not now, not when there’s so few of them. Will the Kid still go on the Skyway when he has a child? Will he still face the danger, the chance to be lost or killed?

Zulf contemplates going on the Skyway himself. He’s healed well over the years, and although he isn’t as strong as the Kid, he made it to the Wall all by himself, didn’t he? He’s quick enough, smart enough. He could do it. It’d be dangerous, deadly, but better his death than the Kid’s. No child should know the pain of losing a parent.

Zulf shakes his head. He waits for the day when he won’t get wrapped up in loss.

“Think I’m gonna stop drinking,” the Kid says. Zulf’s shoulders jump, startled out his thoughts.

“Why’s that?” Zulf asks, eyeing the Kid. The Kid enjoys his alcohol, perhaps more than he should. A sober Kid is an odd thought indeed.

“Gotta be there for my kid. Can’t let alcohol get in the way.” The Kid sits up, grabs his Black Rye, and chugs the rest down. “Gonna miss it.”

“I think that’s admirable,” Zulf says. He eyes his own bottle and puts it down. “Good for you.”

The Kid nods and stares down the neck of his bottle. “You… you ever think you’d have kids? Before the Calamity.”

Zulf swallows hard and grabs his Black Rye again, chugging it down like the Kid did. He doesn’t dare look the Kid in the eyes. “My love… she told me she was pregnant the night I proposed. Everything… everything was so perfect. I had it all. I was scared to be a father, but if it was with her…”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Zulf rubs the bridge of his nose. “But all that’s gone and passed. There’s no point in dwelling on it.”

One day Zulf will stop lying to himself.

The Kid puts his hand on Zulf’s shoulder and squeezes it, the gentlest touch the Kid has ever given him. “Can be a second dad with my kid. Help out. Gonna need all the help we can get, and you’d be good at it. Sure of it.”  


Zulf smiles, something broken and hopeful. “Thank you,” he whispers. “That… that means a lot to me.”

“Good.” The Kid smiles back at him, big and bright. He stands, nearly falls, and rights himself. “Talked out. Going to bed. G’night.”  
“Goodnight, Kid,” Zulf returns.

The Kid stumbles away, stops to kiss Zia on the cheek, and goes to his tent. Zulf gathers up their Black Rye bottles and takes it to the hole they dug on the Bastion for trash. As he wanders to his own tent, his mind spins. A second father. A drunken rambling the Kid won’t remember tomorrow, but it’s a nice idea. Not the same as having a child of his own, a child of his blood, but a nice idea. He strips for bed and slides under his covers. Perhaps things are not so bad, he thinks, and for the first time in a long time, he sleeps without nightmares.


End file.
